Spoiler
Okay... so, this may seem a tad cliche (or maybe not; I'm always worried that what I write is cliche) but it gets weirder... a lot... and, um... well, yeah. Hope yall enjoy.
ONE
When the queen and king of Eriot, after fourteen years of being married, bore their first child at the ages of thirty-nine and forty-two, the entire kingdom rejoiced that their kingdom finally had an heir to the throne. The child was adored, and protected more carefully then anything in the kingdom.
Yes… when he was born everyone celebrated. However, eight years later, when the queen, at the age of forty-seven bore yet another son, nobody really knew what to do. This was a time, and a place where most people didn’t live to see their sixties. Everyone was utterly surprised, so surprised, they hardly remembered to be happy at the birth of this prince.
When the king, an old man by this time, saw his second child for the first time, he frowned, more surprised then anyone, except, perhaps, the queen. But once the shock wore off, he told his wife, “Ah well, now we have an heir, and a spare.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
When he reached the dining room, he paused in the doorway, and made to turn around…
“Tallor!” a high, honey flavored voice called his name, “Come, sit with us, won’t you?”
He sighed, closing his eyes, and trying to convince himself to make a break for it.
Weak, he insulted himself as he stepped into the dining room to see a wide, white grin greeting him, “Good morning!”
He forced a sort of sneering smile, and murmured, “Morning, Layr.”
Tallor sat at a seat across from Layr and a man who was holding her hand under the table. It was A table long enough for fifty people to sit at, and ladened with picked over trays of breakfast food.
“How are you today?” the man sitting next to Layr asked in a voice almost matching his wife’s in honeyed-ness
“Fine,” Tallor muttered low through a gravely throat.
The man frowned, “Just fine?”
Tallor, helping himself to eggs and toast, nodded, “Yes, Dreek. Just fine. I have nothing going on in my life, and I never will,” as he talked his voice got lower, quieter, and gravellier to the point where he could barely be understood.
Layr’s eyebrows furrowed, “What was that, Tal?”
Dreek, who was more accustomed to his brother’s indecipherable muttering explained, “Don’t worry about it, Layr, he’s just being moody.”
“Oh,” Layr didn’t look convinced. She patted her brother-in-law’s shoulder in a comforting manner.
Tallor’s eye twitched in distaste at her touch.
“Well…” Layr glanced between the two men, her eyes finally landing on Dreek’s with a meaningful, excited look in them, “We have some… news…”
Dreek, who was taking a sip of a purple liquid that could have been grape juice or wine, choked slightly on the drink, and lowered his goblet quickly, wiping his lips, and shaking his head, “Not now, Layr.”
She nodded, suppressing a smile, and taking a final bite of her breakfast.
“Hm,” Tallor raised his eyebrows, and finished off his eggs quickly before excusing himself.
“Goodbye Tal!” Layr bid him farewell, giving him another flashing smile.
Tallor waved at her vaguely, but when he was out of the dining room he scoffed, thinking to himself, I can’t stand how… happy they are...
Tallor walked from the dining room to a huge room with high walls, chandeliers, and at the center of it all a raised platform with two thrones sitting upon it. In one throne, a woman sat, and in the other a man. They were both quite old, and the man’s head had lulled onto his shoulder, his eyes shut, and his mouth slightly agape. Although the woman wasn’t sleeping her eyes were glazed over as she stared out, and when Tallor walked into the room she didn’t even seem to notice.
On one of the steps leading up to the thrones a person stood, her hands held together behind her back. She was dressed in a pair of socks that disappeared under her short skirt; one sock was yellow, one was purple. Her shirt and skirt were like-wise divided, the yellow and purple alternating sides. Although this outfit was striking in itself, most eye-catching of all was her hat. It was divided into three sections, each hanging off her head and coming to a point with a little ball hanging off of it.
She frowned at the king and queen, then shrugged at Tallor as he approached them.
He stopped right in front of the first step, and cleared his throat loudly.
The queen’s eyes went huge as she turned to him, obviously surprised that he was there, “Oh! Hello, there Tallor.”
“Good morning,” he sighed, “Mother.”
The queen elbowed her husband roughly, “Wake up!”
He gripped the arms of his throne as he sat up straight, his eyes opening with a flutter, “W-what?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it and giving the queen an annoyed look.
“It seems our son would like to speak to us,” she explained, gesturing towards Tallor.
The king looked at him, and nodded, “Alright… so what is it?”
Tallor took a breath, before saying, “I have a question.”
“Go on then, ask it, dear,” the queen instructed him, her voice slightly irked.
Tallor hesitated, repressing a dirty look, sorry to interrupt your day-dreaming, mother, “Well. I hate to be the one to bring this up, but, you two aren’t going to live much longer.”
Both of his parents frowned at this, but neither argued, while the girl standing on the steps covered her face to repress a snort at Tallor’s frank demeanor.
“And, I was just wondering, when you do die-”
“When we die we will go to heaven. Which is more then I can say for young men who disrespect their parents…” the king cut him off, speaking in a threatening tone.
“I wasn’t asking about that,” Tallor rolled his eyes, “No. I was going to ask a question about,” he paused, knowing that it created a dramatic effect, “Succession.”
The king and queen glanced at each other, then the queen looked down at Tallor, her lips pursed, “What of succession?”
“Someone with your brains ought to understand,” the king pointed out, “it’s quite simple; the king and queen’s eldest child takes over after they pass-”
“Of course I understand that,” he scoffed, “my question is: has ever a sort of,” he snapped his fingers, searching for the right word, “deal, been struck, a deal that would change the natural order of succession?”
The girl on the stairs and the king exchanged looks, whereas the queen snorted at this.
“Oh, Tallor,” she shook her head, then leaned towards her son, her eyes narrow and disbelieving, “do you even hear the words issuing from your mouth?!” she threw her head back, and chuckled, then straightened up, her face now serious. “No. Such a deal has never been struck in all the generations of Eriot royalty before us, and I don’t plan on one being struck anytime soon.”
Tallor returned the queen’s powerful stare with a scowl, “B-but,” he shook his head in disgust, “don’t you get it?! You said yourself, father, that I’m clever. More clever then Dreek, surely.”
“I never said anything about-” the king began, but Tallor paid him no mind.
“And I’m sure Dreek would agree to a deal! I hear him complaining about the responsibilities of being king every other day!” Tallor insisted, looking at the queen desperately.
“No,” she said, looking down on him with merciless eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s how it’s always been, dear.”
“But-”
“If we were to die tomorrow,” the queen continued, cutting him off, “You would still be thirteen years old! How could you become king?”
“Fourteen, mother,” he muttered angrily.
Ignoring this, she continued, “Furthermore, your brother is married and soon enough him and Layr will have their own children and we won’t have to worry about them not having an heir of their own.” Now the queen paused, and aloud Tallor to reply.
However, he was too miffed to say anything. He just stared up at her with narrow eyes.
The king sighed, “Don’t look like that, son. This is how it’s been for years… the oldest child always takes over.”
“I don’t care! It’s stupid. I’m a dozen times smarter then Dreek, and I would make a far better king,” he explained angrily.
Before either of his parents could say anything to placate him, Tallor stormed out of the room.
The queen looked at the king, a glare in her eyes that made it clear that she felt it was all his fault.
The king sighed and groaned, turning his head slowly from his wife, to the colorfully dressed girl. “Follow him.”
